


Lebensmüde

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/F, Hook-Up, Hotel Sex, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 15:29:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14311737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: Lebensmüde- German. Literally translates to ‘life tired’. Refers to the unique sorrows of being world-weary. Restless or dissatisfied with life.Acting captain of the Thirteenth Division for seven years, Rukia has the honor of attending an extremely significant and joyful event, and does so without feeling very much joy whatsoever. Instead, she’s just tired and stressed out. Rangiku Matsumoto is on the job to make sure Rukia gets to feel refreshed.





	Lebensmüde

Human beings always prefer to think of themselves as uniquely individuals. Nobody likes the idea that they’re just part of a larger mass of people. That every time they act, or speak, or think, at some point all those behaviors get churned through the engine of societal impact and come out slightly different than when they started.

But people do things because of people. Sometimes they do things they don’t mean or even necessarily want to do. One doesn’t ask oneself why they eat cake on their birthday, they just do it. 

Buy the cake. Sing the song. Open the presents. A ritual repeated every year like a magic spell, as if there’s power in every flicker of confetti that flutters to the floor and embeds itself between carpet fibers. Every whiff of a candle that must go out.

 

Rukia doesn’t ask for the glass of wine, but accepts the one handed to her anyways, because that’s polite. The white-gold liquid inside soaks up the light of the room, reflects the blue of Rukia’s eyes back at her. Catches the pink of her lipstick when Rukia takes a sip and tastes static on her tongue.  

It feels warm in here, Rukia drags her finger around the neck of her blouse to try and get some air circulation. The last thing she needs right now is to be gross and sweaty in a room full of people, it feels far too much like a Kuchiki family function, or addressing her division as acting captain. Give Rukia slaying hollows and competing with arrancars any day, she’ll gladly jump into the maw of danger rather than endure public appearances. And being caught dead all sweaty and swampy is out of the question.

“-an’ furthermore, you haven’t been listening to a single thing I just said, have you?”

Rukia’s eyes snap to attention, awash with the realization that Renji is fixing her with a befuddled furrowing of his brows.

Broad arms are crossed over a white, button-up shirt. Rukia cannot for the life of her remember the last time she saw Renji dressed up, all with his stiff dress shirt tucked into his fancy boy dress pants. It clashes something awful with his tattoos and his usual demeanor for dark, rocker-type fashions. But it’s sweet of him to make the effort, although he has still forgone the traditional tie and blazer and has his sleeves rolled up at the cuffs.

Good. Rukia thinks if she saw her childhood best friend dressing too much like Byakuya would, she’d probably assume Renji was dying and that was the suit that he would like to be buried in.

(Shinigami are traditionally buried with their shihakusho uniform. Unless their families’ are exuberantly wealthy and pay to have them buried in their most regal of robes. So much for everyone being equal in death.)

Rather than address what she just heard Renji say (or the lack thereof) Rukia blinks at him in surprise, sloshing her wine around in its glass in a way that she thinks is kind of elegant. “Your hair is different.” She notes.

“Hm?”

She sees the confusion on his face, fading to realization as Renji combs his fingers through his long ponytail. Gone is the black bandana typically used to cover up the tattoos on his forehead, instead Renji’s shaved hairline is artfully disguised with loose bangs. His hair just gets longer and longer, dripping down his back and threatening to slap Rukia in the face every time he turns his head too fast.

“Yeah? I guess it is. I dunno, I like the bandana thing, but the whole point of them was that I didn’t get dirty looks from people for my tattoos all the time. These days, it seems kinda redundant. What, does it look sloppy or something?”

“No, it’s nice.” Rukia says, taking a long sip from her wine glass. It’s not as if she is an expert on fashion, anyways, but she’s glad that Renji doesn’t feel so pressed to hide his tattoos or his hair when he’s so obviously proud of both. Even if it looked bad, she’d probably wait until after the party to tell him. She’s a nice friend. “A lot of people in the Gotei look up to you these days, don’t they? You deserve to be a little more confident in yourself.”

“Thanks, I think. Seems like everyone is a little different tonight. I don’t usually see you wearing makeup. Or drinking wine. Holy shit, do you wanna slow down there a little, Lieutenant Kuchiki?”   
Renji’s massive hand covers the mouth of Rukia’s wine glass, which is already half empty, and forces her to lower it from her lips.

For his troubles, Rukia fixes him with her most scathing glare. She hates it when Renji treats her like she’s a baby. They’re approximately the same age, give or take a few years in the land where calendars are more like complicated puzzles. How many times do you have to get stabbed for folks to take you seriously around here?

“Are you really gonna be okay tonight? If you need t’ slip out, I can cover for you and say you went back to the Thirteenth. It’s no big deal.”

She shakes her head, spreading around the scent of weird perfume that she experimentally dabbed on her neck and ears. “No, I want to be here. I-” When Rukia glances down at her chest, the hypnotic swirls of navy blue lace catch her eyes as they criss-cross over her collarbone. She never knows what to wear to these sorts of events, Rukia has become too complacent in allowing her Kuchiki handmaids to lay out her yukata and kimono for her. That’s sort of embarassing “I’ve been looking forwards to seeing everyone again. And letting Inoue know how happy I am for her.”

“Mm.” Renji’s voice is a distant grunt in his throat. Rukia can tell without looking at him that his dark eyes are scanning the rest of the room from their little corner, observing a sea of faces both familiar and not. “Me, too.”

Rukia knows that Renji gets what she really means. It’s been seven years since the end of the Blood War. Rukia had been noticing her human friends getting older, growing, evolving, but only tonight does it seem so starkly shocking that the kids she once knew really have become adults.

“Hey, what are you two doing skulking around over there?” A familiar voice rings Rukia’s ears. A bright patch of orange hair that is only competed with by Renji’s, Rukia sees Ichigo looking tall and golden and tired as he approaches. “Everybody’s been looking for you. I know it’s kinda awkward that it’s mostly Tatsuki’s family here, but there’s plenty of people who want to see you guys, too.”

Rukia forces her shoulders to stiffen. Ichigo is one of the few who have changed surprisingly little, at least on the outside. Still tall, long-limbed, bright-eyed under his bangs. His gaze circles the crowd of dark-haired strangers around him with the same cautious suspicion that Rukia just noticed in Renji, like he isn’t sure what to do with himself in front of so many people.

This is Mr. Kurosaki, a student teacher at an elementary school of one of Karakura’s smaller, sister towns. He has a cat that he adopted from off the street. He gets a call from Yuzu at least once a week. He’s one of Soul Society’s most famous, prolific heroes and he’s wearing. Fucking khaki pants.

Renji reacts first, “Hey, Ichigo. Good to see ya’, it’s been awhile since I got the chance to drop by. You guys are doin’ your jobs too well taking care of the town.” Rukia watches with objective fascination as Renji offers his hand for Ichigo to take, then uses that hand to pull the younger man in for a brief, tight hug. As gruff as Renji can be, sometimes his emotional displays make Rukia look like a goddamn ice sculpture in comparison.

Though a little shocked, Ichigo rolls with the platonic PDA well, pulling away with a satisfied smirk. “Don’t sound so surprised by that.” Now it’s Rukia’s turn, but she’s not sure what shebe expecting. Are they going to hug, too? Will Ichigo have to crouch down to embrace her, or is she just fated to stand on her tippy toes every time she wants to greet somebody? Is it too late for her to change into some high heels?

Instead, he gives her something even more rare- a shy, sunny smile taking over his normally surly face. “Hey, Rukia.” Sometimes he reminds her so much of Kaien, it feels like getting stabbed in the chest. It seems like as Ichigo gets older, gets closer to becoming the spitting image of his cousin, all sharp jaw and strong nose.

She smiles back, and it really does feel like that’s all they need to do. “Ichigo.” He was the first person Rukia didn’t feel she had to talk to in order to communicate with, fewer words were enough. “You look well.”

“Yeah, thanks. Listen, a bunch of us from school are hanging out in downstairs. You guys should come say hello. Inoue is around here somewhere, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of her yet.”

“We’re not in a rush.” Renji assures him, then claps Rukia on the shoulder. “Let’s go see how the gang is holding up.”

 

Tatsuki’s family is… large. They all look somewhat like her, tall and dark-haired and handsome. On the way to the basement, Rukia tries to fish through the crowd for a long flash of hair the color of tangerines, and the smell of freshly baked bread.

But she doesn’t. So instead of leering into space, trying to see the gaps between people, Rukia focuses her gaze ahead of her and tries to control her mind. This weight of doubt running through her thoughts, pounding against her brain like the heavy paws of a pacing animal– she will make it stop. Rukia goes for another sip of her wine before realizing the glass is already drained.

The three shinigami descend the stairs.

 

Rukia spots the unmistakable bulk of Sado’s form first and foremost. She sympathizes with him a lot. Not everyone knows what it’s like to have reached your full height in adolescence, being stuck at 4”9 since before she even went to Shin’o was a powerful burden indeed. There’s ishida sitting next to him, and two more young men that Rukia needs a minute to recognize as Ichigo’s friends Keigo and Mizuro.

There’s a pinch of frustration in Rukia’s jaw. Has it really been so long that she actually forgot their names? She saw them practically every day for three months when she was lying low from Soul Society, a ghost pretending to be a girl. But what even is a handful of weeks for a shinigami who has lived over 120 years? Rukia might as well have met them between the blinks of her eye.

“Woah, is what I’m seein’ here for real? Mizuro, look! It’s totally Rukia! She showed!” This young man with the brassy brown hair that Rukia completely just blanked on practically hops to his feet, elbowing the dark-haired companion at his side with the calm, boyish face.

“You’re too loud, Asano. She’s going to get annoyed with you and want to leave.”

“What? Don’t be so mean to me! We’re not in highschool anymore, it’s not funny to pretend you’re not my friend!”

In the corner of Rukia’s eye, she sees Renji fidget once before going still. Protective, not sure what to make of these two strangers. She’s grateful for his indecision; it gives her motivation to step up. “Sorry we’re late. Can we join you guys?”

“Of course.” Sado makes room for them to settle down, letting Rukia sit on his right, then Renji on her other side, then Ichigo. It feels eerily like when Rukia was still attending Karakura as a transfer student, eating lunch in a circle on the rooftops and keeping one eye on the sky for the day that Renji and Byakuya would appear to take her back.

“It’s rare for you two to come from Soul Society these days.” Ishida says, as if he was reading Rukia’s mind. He’s wearing a white sweater with a blue cross over the heart, which surprises literally no one.

Ah yes, Rukia forgot they were doing this whole ‘talking about Soul Society in front of the normal humans’ thing. She refuses to allow her gaze to flicker towards Asano and Mizuro.

“Well, Rukia is the Acting Captain of the Thirteenth, now.” Renji announces proudly, grinning even though Rukia’s stomach flip-flops in her belly. The fact that it’s been true for seven years has only made the fact gradually less jarring. “She’s got a lot on her plate these days- but she’s doin’ a great job.”

The last part he tacks on almost hastily, and gently knocks his knuckles against her shoulder hard enough to jostle. Rukia dutifully rolls her eyes, making a sour face. “Nice pitch, Renji. But I already told you, I’m not hiring any PR right now.”

“Acting Captain? What does that mean?”

“It sounds more prestigious than it is.” Rukia says, her fingers finding a stray lock of her hair to toy with. “Mostly it just means I have two jobs to take care of- though honestly my subordinates have been picking up a lot of my slack. Things haven’t been… you know, the same.”

She thinks, of course, about Sentaro and Kiyone. About walking past the Captain’s office and hearing dead silence inside, not a peep out of either of her infamously uppity Third-in-commands. When Ukitake left, Rukia knew he was taking a part of the Thirteenth with him.

Rukia just wasn’t expecting that absence to be so loud.

“So you’re basically running the Thirteenth by yourself?” Ichigo’s brows furrow under orange bangs. “It’s been seven years. How long does it usually take to pick a new captain?”

“As long as it takes to find one who’s ready.” Rukia’s voice is tinged with stress, hand transitioning from tugging on her bang to raking fingers through her hair. “God, it’s been such a pain in the neck, too. There have to be nominations from the pre-existing captains, then a whole bunch of arguing over the nominees. We haven’t even gotten to the trials, and that’s assuming everyone can agree on a single candidate-”

“They’d agree on you.” Renji says suddenly, taking all of the air out of Rukia’s throat.

But she breathes in, and with it her vigor returns. “You don’t know that. There’s literally thousands of potentials with more experience than me.”

“Yeah, but what good has doing things by the old way done for the Gotei, lately.” Renji’s eyes flutter shut, and Rukia sees a flash of smothered indignation cross his expression. “Playing it safe and going with what was traditional was how we got Aizen in the first place. If you ask me, getting some new blood into the Captain’s Seat is the best thing Kyoraku could do.”

“Then maybe I should nominate you,” Rukia challenges, “Since you seem awfully optimistic.”

She didn’t mean it to sound cruel, but she worries that it did. Maybe Renji really would make a better captain than she would, he’s the one with more experience as a lieutenant. He’s the one that his subordinates look up to, changing the energy of the Sixth Division from quiet and repressed to one of boisterous loyalty.

What exactly does Rukia have, compared to that? She was a criminal less than a decade ago, sentenced to be killed. She doesn’t know if her division members want their captains to have a habit of barely cheating death.

Now that Rukia has successfully introduced tension into the situation and ruined a lovely conversation, let’s check on how everyone else is doing. Rukia hopes that her scant traces of makeup hide the cold flush over her cheeks.

Sado is the one who saves the conversation, strangely enough. “We never did spend a lot of time in Soul Society after those events. I think we all still have our passes, don’t we?”  the way he asks, Rukia already knows they all do, and they know that they all do. “It might be nice to pay a visit.”

“First thing’s first, we should see if any of our season breaks overlap. I’m not in high school anymore, I have to ditch work to go chase around hollows all day as it is.”

“Perhaps the rest of you should plan something.” Ishida adjusts himself, expression looking dour. “I don’t know if the shinigami would appreciate having a Quincy in their midst again so soon.”

Ichigo’s mouth flattens into a line of concern. “It’s been seven years.”

“Shinigami have long memories.”

Rukia twists the stem of her glass with her fingers. It would be nice to see everyone for longer, but things are so complicated. How would that fit into her work schedule, especially considering everything else that’s happening right now? For all she knows, Rukia might not even be living in the same Kuchiki estate soon.

Captain Ukitake really was too generous, finding reasons to let Rukia come and go has she pleased. She didn’t even realize how much freedom she had, and that wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to begin with. Now she’s trapped by obligation, by her responsibility and her own independent choices.

Rukia isn’t a child, and hasn’t been one for a long time. But she had been pretending to be one and this is her long overdue reality check to grow up, sitting in a circle with all the kids that she once knew who are beginning to be old.

It’s almost a relief, in a way. Things are changing but at the same time they stay the same. Just like her bankai, Sode no Shirayuki’s wonderous and terrifying and deadly gift to Rukia, reality behaves differently around her than it does for most people. She’s an agent of chaos, disrupting the flow of things. She ought not to keep pretending that she’s a victim waiting for a rescue.

“You should all come and visit.” She says, managing a bold smile and sincere gratitude in her voice. “The repairs on the Seireitei aren’t entirely complete, but I think the changes we’ve made to the city planning are pretty remarkable. I’ve been advocating with some of the other high-ranking officers to take the walls around the Seireitei down completely, since there’s so much work to do and they didn’t serve much of a function in the first place.”

She sees Ichigo, Sado, and Ishida’s eyebrows rise in surprise. They know enough about the significance of the walls to be impressed. “That’s a very bold choice, Kuchiki-san.”

“Things really are evolving.”

Yeah, the way sapling trees evolve from a blighted wasteland. There is no point focusing on her regrets, Rukia refuses to allow herself to spiral downwards when she still has so much work ahead of her. She has to put on a brave face.

Eyes hover on her as Rukia stands up, smoothing down the front of her dress with calm, smoothe motions. “I’m going to excuse myself for a minute.”

“Everything okay?” Renji asks, fidgeting beside her like he’s ready to bounce up and follow her on her heels.

“Yeah, of course. Just going to the ladies’ room. Anyone want me to bring them back a drink while I’m up? You’re all drinking age now, responsible adults and whatever.” She waves while strutting to the stairs, congratulating herself on keeping composure. “I’ll be right back, don’t miss me too much.”

Upstairs once more, Rukia is once again immersed in the sea of Arisawa family, none of whom she knows. That claustrophobic panic of being the introvert at a party once again tugs at her skull- it’s weird to be anonymous, after getting used to an extremely unwanted elevation of fame in Soul Society. Rukia will come to miss the smallness of being invisible, rather than the usual, annoying kind of smallness she’s subjected to.

She hears laughter ringing in her ears; this house is filled with joy. Friends reuniting, family catching up, lovers announcing love. Rukia has never been one to run away from what scares her, she needs to pull this thorn out of her flesh while the wound is still nice and raw.

Her feet carry her from room to room, sliding through and between the shapes of strangers. They are so full of joy, so human. Brimming with life and tragedy and pain and life. Rukia aches with fondness for them, and their too-fast world.

And there it is. That familiar bell of laughter, the one Rukia recognizes like a dream about a dream. She moves towards it, sliding through the crowded room like the phantom she is underneath her fake flesh and doll bones.

Orihime Inoue looks as radiant as she did the day Rukia last saw her. No, even more lovely, with hair the color of polished copper and sunshine rolling down her shoulders and dancing around her hips. Rukia watches her pink lips peel into a smile that takes up her whole face, burning her cheeks a bright and glowing and happy red.

“Inoue.”

Orihime pauses where she stands, wrapped in Tatsuki’s arm and pressed side-by-side. Her amber gaze finds Rukia instantly, and for a second that euphoric expression falters. Becomes something unsure, maybe even apprehensive- then smooths itself out, to something serene and warm that Rukia feels as if the Sun is shining on her face.

“Rukia,” Orihime is 26 years old, and dresses like it. If there’s any makeup on her face, Rukia doesn’t notice it. But her look is more elegant and put-together for this formal occasion, with her long hair tied back in a simple ponytail, and her dress the color of liquid starshine. “You came! I’m so happy!”

Two arms close around Rukia’s shoulders, pulling her into Orihime’s embrace. She hugs with her entire body, like everything is soft and nothing hurts. Rukia is positive that there is an audible sound of her knees knocking together, finally released from the tight hug and feeling like she just fell a hundred feet. Breath returns to her just in time to sound like a normal person. “It’s good to see you again, Inoue.”

“Rukia, thanks for coming.” As Orihime’s embrace recedes, Tatsuki also approaches to offer her own hug. She looks very smart, in a suit of black and white, the stiff and clean cotton rubbing against Rukia’s bare arms when the other woman pulls her in. Tatsuki’s thick, dark hair smells like cologne.

“Of course.” Rukia replies, taking a half-step back that she can better address the two of them. They do look so good together, Orihime looking small and soft next to Tatuki’s tall, slender figure. (Why are Tatsuki’s shoulders looking so stiff? Does she sense, in her own human way, the sour emotions that Rukia is trying to bury her under her smile? She’s a little bit like Ichigo, always far too ready to jump the moment it seems the ground might go out from under her. Poor girl doesn’t know she has nothing to worry about.) “Like I could stand to miss it. You two must be so excited for the wedding as well.”

If there is in fact any tension in Tatsuki’s stance, it recedes. Orihime flushes bashfully, wringing her tender hands over each other. “We have a lot of ideas to go through still. But, you know, there’s still plenty of time to decide on that. It’s all so exciting!.”

“Plenty of time, hm? You could say that, since we don’t have a date for the wedding yet.” Tatsuki chuckles, and Rukia can see her fingers disappear behind Orihime’s shoulders, rubbing her palm companionably up and down her fiance’s back.

“It should be filled with things that we both like! The bakery that I used to work at had these really cute cakes, I want to go back there and see if they’ll look at some of my sketches. Then we just have to figure out how we’re going to work your dojo into the ceremony.”

“What, like having the cake-toppers be doing karate?”

“Fun, but no– I was thinking more like having the reception there. I know I specialize in silly, but I want this to be really elegant and lovely.”

“Oh yeah?” Tatsuki smiles warmly, looking heart-melting with the white of her teeth matching the collar of her shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a shred of her broad chest and collarbone. “If you’re against silly and in favor of elegant, then I guess we won’t need to have the honeymoon at Disneyland. Instead we can go, I don’t know, to a vineyard and try to pair wines and cheese with all the retired couples.”

Orihime’s petal-pink lip juts out in a demure pout, looking down at her hands as she tents her fingers together stubbornly. “Disneyland is elegant! The fireworks are so fancy. And I love wine and cheese…”

“I know you do, babe.” Tatsuki stoops down to plant a smooch on Orihime’s plump cheek, and the shorter woman squeals in delight. This must be a common occurrence for them, as only a handful of Tatsuki’s relatives are still naive enough to look over in perplexity at why Tatsuki’s redheaded bride makes such a unique range of noises, like those befitting of a cute cartoon mouse or a princess being mercilessly tickled.

The effort falls on Rukia to not feel uncomfortable at two joyous people expressing their love for each other, at a party specifically to celebrate the intensity of that love. Or, at least, for Rukia to not reveal that discomfort. “You two aren’t even married, and you already sound like stereotypical newlyweds.”

“Rukiaaaaa, Tatsuki likes to tease me too much. She’s embarrassing me!”

At what point did Orihime stop calling Rukia ‘Kuchiki-san’? Maybe now that she’s all grown up, addressing Rukia by her surname feels too formal and demure. Is Rukia still the same Rukia to Orihime? After all, Rukia isn’t the one who changes a bit more every single year.

“I don’t! You’re just bubbly and excitable, you’ve been giggling all night like a loon!”

Once again, the floor seems to spin under Rukia’s feet. Standing in the radiant glow of Orihime and Tatsuki’s love, she feels shriveled and ugly and rotten. She feels as though she is looking into a fun house mirror, only rather than seeing a warped and broken reflection of herself Rukia is seeing a window into something infinitely better than she is herself. Or, perhaps, Orihime and Tatsuki are on the other side of the mirror looking in.

Subconsciously, Rukia takes a step back. She needs to find space, and within that space some air to breathe and some ground to stand on. But with her movement, she once again catches Orhime’s attentive, caring gaze. Her warm eyes under brows that are now beginning to gently crinkle. Orihime is too smart for her own good, and Rukia is too obtuse. “Rukia, are you alright? I’m so sorry, it’s been so long since everyone has been together and I’ve barely seen you. We can sit down and catch up-”

“Downstairs,” Rukia says suddenly, reality once again swimming back into itself. As pleasant as it would be for Rukia to let her consciousness drift off into the nether region, she must continue to anchor it to this physical location. “Ichigo, Renji and the others are all hanging out in the basement. I actually was just there, but I stepped away to use the bathroom. I’m sure they’d all be happy to see you, if you want a place to sit down and chat.”

Deception has long been one of the many faithful arrows in Rukia’s quiver, but Orihime is not the easiest person to lie to. Her doe-eyes are brimming with uncertainty, but she gently nods with understanding. “Right, I’ve been looking forwards to spending some time with everyone. I’m afraid we haven’t been very good hosts, have we?”

“I think we’ve both earned a break from my family. Let’s go see the guys.” Tatsuki puts one hand on her narrow hips. The other combs through her short, shiny hair. “Thanks for telling us, Rukia!”

“I’ll meet you down there in a minute.” Rukia’s voice says, but she already feels herself fading back into the wallpaper. She needs an escape. To find her fingers tracing the walls and the window ledges, begging for a release into the cool nighttime.

 

Things are quieter up here- slightly, gradually. Those who came to wish Tatsuki and her fiance well have settled down, leaving Rukia’s wandering unfettered, and Rukia finds herself drawn once again to the kitchen area. As long as she’s here, it seems foolish to leave this uncorked bottle of wine out when it’s almost empty. Rukia takes it the cold glass by the neck and refills her empty wine glass. The bottle generously gurgles in her palm,

Orihime is a fiance. She’s going to be married to her best friend, and it’s wonderful. She deserves it and so much more. In the aftermath of the war, Rukia has realized it’s important that people get what they deserve.

She doesn’t think about what Rukia deserves. Her close relationships to people? They’re fine, she supposes. All things considered, they’re better than she could have hoped for. Her relationship to herself? Atrocious. Rukia is, always has been, a stranger inside her own skin. Rukia is a burden to Renji, a shadow to Byakuya, an alien to Ichigo.

People drink too much in Soul Society. That is a fact that Rukia knows indefinitely, that war makes monsters out of them all. People try to numb the beasts inside them, self-medicating because the Fourth Division has no treatment for a broken heart. Rukia takes a sip of her wine without tasting it, and she feels danger buzz on her lips.

What will happen now? What will have always been happening. In ten years, Orihime and the others will be even older and grayer. In fifty, they could on death’s door. In a hundred years, they will most certainly be buried, leaving behind the World of the Living for an uncertain afterlife, whether it be in Soul Society or… somewhere else. What is Rukia going to be, except sadder and angrier and more tired, but other than that mostly the same to how she is now on this day in comparison?

Maybe she will become like those hardened shinigami, the ones who use alcohol to quiet their restless minds. Maybe it’s better that she become numb, rather than a victim to troubling thoughts all of the time.

The kitchen connects to the outdoor patio by a sliding door, it’s easy for Rukia to slip through with nothing but a gust of cold wind to tell that she was inside. Wine glass clenched in her fist, Rukia takes a deep breath of burning, frigid air until she feels her lungs swell inside her chest. She needs the cold in order to feel real.

Sometimes she thinks about the time she was dead. Feeling her heart stop inside her own body, slowly and slowly and silent. Feeling nothing under her skin with her blood like ice running through her veins. Rukia never realized how noisy her body was until it became silent, and now every moment after that has filled with enough white noise to make her eardrums pop. Everything is frightening. She has not used Sode no Shirayuki’s bankai since that first time, because she’s too dangerous and too scared.

Her stomach churns, Rukia stares down at her own feet. She really is a disaster, a terrible excuse of a lieutenant. What would Ukitake and Kaien say, if they could see her squirm under pressure? They’d want her to at least be happy that she’s alive.

Happy? What could this strange, un-sad emotion possibly be? What a bizarre concept.

“Rukia, are you okay?”

Absolutely not. Rukia feels a scathing retort crawl up her throat like hot bile, sealed behind a frown. She has to remember that part of being at this party means not acting as if she’s barely restrained from screaming until she bleeds or cowering in the corners.

She glances behind her, looking inwards at the yellow glow coming from inside the house like a beacon of gold light. Rukia puts her hand up over her eyes instinctively, burned by the brightness. She almost doesn’t catch a familiar female form flickering behind her own palm. “Lieutenant Matsumoto?”

Rangiku’s hair is getting long again. It looks pretty, pinned behind her ear on one side. Matsumoto always looks pretty. Rukia takes a siesta from being miserable and wondering why Rangiku would even approach someone who looks about as enjoyable to be around as a pile of wet toilet paper to appreciate how stunning the other vice-captain looks, all nice in her shiny pink dress.

“What are you doing out here, hon?” Rangiku asks gently, and Rukia nearly recoils at the kindness. Technically as acting captain, Rukia is Rangiku’s superior officer, but she’s always uncertain of how to act around the other lieutenants aside from Renji. They all have a repertoire with each other that she is illiterate to. “Holy shit, it’s cold out here.”

Rukia is at a loss on how she’s supposed to respond. She came out here to clear her head, now she has to wipe at her eyes, school herself back into being a normal person. “Just needed some air…” Her voice is embarrassingly strained, her skin too warm and damp. “Matsumoto, when did you get here? I didn’t see you inside before.”

“I just arrived. Sorry for sneaking up on you, I saw you spacing out through the kitchen window. Hey,” Rukia didn’t realize how quickly Rangiku could move when she wanted to, appearing at her side and wrapping a warm arm around the smaller woman’s shoulder. The contact is actually very jarring, being pulled in to an embrace so quickly and without hesitation. “Hey, relax. Let’s sit down for a sec, okay?”

Rukia envies Rangiku’s ability to handle everything so calmly. Her presence is as comforting as it is mortifying, coaxing Rukia to sit down next to her on the patio stoop with the house at their backs.

Rukia’s hands cover her face, and she fills them with a groan. She feels very tired, despite not having done much of anything at all except insert herself into situations to make them uncomfortable. Rangiku’s palm rubs circles into her back, hypnotically soothing. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what is happened to me tonight…”

“Do you hear anyone out here asking you to apologize? You’re okay.” Rangiku’s head bends towards Rukia’s, her flaxen hair draping over her shoulders. Her lips brush over the shell of Rukia’s ear.

“I’m not ready for this. I know I should be. It’s been years, but it still feels like it’s happening too fast.” Her eyes burn fiercely, angrily. “I don’t want to see them get old and die. I just want things to feel normal again like before.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. Oh, baby, I know. I’ve had the same thoughts.”

Rukia feels Rangiku moving next to her, the subtle shifting of her body to curl around Rukia’s protectively. The electric point of contact where Rangiku places a soft, damp kiss on Rukia’s forehead, and the impact threatens to send vibrations down Rukia’s body like an earthquake. “Do you want to leave?”

“I can’t do that. I don’t want to look weak-”

“We’ll tell people there was an emergency at the Thirteenth. Your subordinates put so much pressure on you, it’s easy enough to imagine they called you away for something urgent and you had to heroically dash off to protect the fate of Soul Society.”

Rukia feels Rangiku stand up beside her, towering suddenly. Rukia’s cheek brushes Rangiku’s thighs, the bare skin of her tan, curvy legs. “I’ll let Renji know that I’m taking you back. Sit tight here.” She parts with a tight squeeze to Rukia’s shoulder, disappearing back within the house.

It hardly sounds like a bullet-proof plan– Rukia can only imagine that if Renji thought something was wrong, he’d insist on investigating himself. Worse still, if he knew the real reason was that Rukia was having a sucky, miserable time, she’d have to handle the guilt of that in addition to her regular, old terrible feelings.

It’s pretty out here, at least. Rukia can see the full moon, hanging in the sky like an enormous fish eye, recalling stories of the rabbit that lived up in the moon on a little farm. She polishes off her second glass of wine and admires the way that the moonlight burns through the faint cloud covering.

Soul Society and the World of the Living aren’t so different, when you get down to it. The Human World has more smog to smear out the stars, a touch of poison soaked into the bones of this world from ages of abuse. But after fifty years of living in the Seireitei, Rukia is used to light pollution blearing out the natural nighttime sky. The view upwards from the Rukongai had so many stars you could get dizzy looking at them, be terrified and awed by their numbers, but being outside at nighttime in such a neighborhood provided an entirely different set of problems.

Rangiku is back quicker than Rukia anticipated, suddenly there are two hands on Rukia’s waist lifting her up and to her feet. The other lieutenant’s physical strength, even in her gigai, is as surprising as it is daunting, Rukia squeaks indignantly as she is lifted. “Renji says we’re good to go. You should call him tomorrow morning and let him know if you’re feeling better, okay?”

Poor Renji, getting left behind as usual. Maybe he’ll have more fun like this, just hanging out with Ichigo and the others. Rukia can hope so. “Are we going back to Soul Society?”

“We can if you like. That’s going to be kind of a long trip, but if you think you can make it-”

Fuck that, then. As if Rukia wants to make the trek through the Seireitei in her fancy clothes in the middle of the night, just to wriggle around the Kuchiki estate’s tedious security. Where had she been, did she have any idea what time it was, ecetera ecetera. “Were you going to spend the night in the World of the Living?”

As Rukia looks over her shoulder, she can catch a white glint of teeth catching moonlight. Rangiku grins a small, cat-like grin. “I was. I got a hotel room before coming to the party. My subordinates in the Tenth apparently don’t love me sneaking in and out of the barracks late at night all the time, it spooks them too bad.”

“How often are you sneaking and out?” Rukia asks, wondering if the precocious furrowing of her eyebrows can be translated in the dark.

“Often enough. A girl can have hobbies.” Rangiku answers, turning her pink cheek to Rukia and averting the directness of her gaze. None of Rukia’s internal questions are answered by that response. “But I can take you home, it’s no trouble for me.”

It would be the responsible thing to do. The Kuchiki Heiress thing. The Acting Captain-y thing. Behave, be cautious. Accept that every action she does will be public and scrutinized. It feels like a hundred years ago that Rukia was tiptoeing and trapezing around the World of the Living, coaching Ichigo through Baby’s First Shinigami Assignments and surviving off her wit. That was about as free as she ever got. And as stressful and anxious as she was, she misses it.

‘Feels like a hundred years ago’, indeed. Wasn’t the whole lesson Rukia learned tonight at this party to not underestimate the vastness of her own stupid, supernatural lifespan?

“Take me to your hotel room, please.” Rukia says. “No one will miss me just for tonight.”

 

Karakura is not a big city, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in density. The hotel Rangiku had selected is in a downtown neighborhood that Rukia surprises herself by recognizing. She recalls slipping around this neighborhood in her her bootleg, Urahara-brand Gigai, walking up these stone steps and onto the paved roads.

All the way into and through the building, Rukia observes Rangiku’s back as she leads the way. Her coat is zipped up to her throat, hands hidden inside her pockets.

For as long as Rukia can remember, Lieutenant Matsumoto has always had a reputation for being unpredictable. Some would even go further and say she was duplicitous, never revealing her true feelings to anyone.

‘Carmen will always be free,’ Rukia’s brain rings faintly with the memories of reading too much risque literature. Stories of femme fatales, and the strength and scathing intelligence they disguised by being beautiful and charming. Human literature is really fascinating; always enamored by sex and death.

“This is us.” Rangiku opens up the door to enter Rukia into a dark, cozy room. Given that Rangiku was planning on spending the evening alone, it makes sense that she wouldn’t get a large room for herself. The square footage is a mere fraction of Rukia’s bedroom in the estate.

Rangiku flicks on the dim light at the threshold, revealing the decor of the room in stripes of olive and cream. The sparse accommodations of the queen bed, the tv and the writing desk are balanced by their elegant design, the plush bed in particular calls out to Rukia invitingly. “You can have my pajamas if you want. Maybe you’ve noticed that I’m not the most modest gal around, but if me sleeping naked next to you makes you uncomfortable, I’ll grab the bathrobe from the closet.”

Rukia doesn’t answer her right away, lifting her own coat off of her shoulders and letting it fall on the rug in a discarded pile. “It’s not a problem for me.” Her arm reaches around her waist, stretching to blindly trace the tips of her fingers over her own back until Rukia finds the slim zipper of her dress and drags it downwards.

The bed squeals and sighs as Rukia lifts her knee onto the mattress, followed by the rest of her body, kicking her shoes off of her feet. Rukia looks towards Rangiku, who’s lashes flutter over her blue eyes in surprise. Perhaps she wasn’t expecting Miss Lieutenant Kuchiki to be so brash after just recovering from a fog of anxiety. She did invite herself over to Rangiku’s room, after all. That’s a hell of a gutsy move for Rukia to congratulate herself over.

Rangiku is so lovely. She’s nice to everyone– except for people who don’t deserve it, and Rukia admires that. She often wishes that she could be a little kinder or a little crueler, often at the same time. Furthermore, it’s been a really long time since Rukia kissed anybody, and Rangiku has a face that looks like it was made to be kissed by lonely girls.

Rukia observes Rangiku’s brows raised, her lips parted a fraction underneath a wisp of yellow hair that has fallen into her face. She looks almost reluctant to move, or perhaps suspicious that what Rukia has laid for her is a trap, so Rukia offers her some incentive.

“Are you coming to bed?” Rukia pulls the front of her dress down her chest, over her white bra and her stomach to pool around her hips. She’s never been assertive in a courtship like this before, never even really got to pursue one with her various reputations creating an insulated bubble around her, impenetrable by potential friends and lovers alike. Rukia reclines against the headboard, the skirt of her dress falling up her thighs.

She’s not sure what she’s expecting Rangiku to do when she finally approaches, settling down next to Rukia on the mattress like she’s taking some huge weight off of her shoulders. Rukia certainly isn’t expecting the blond woman to chuckle as she leans over her, blond hair brushing Rukia’s forehead and tickling her neck.

Rangiku’s lips press deeply against Rukia’s, and the air within Rukia’s lungs seems to disappear at once. Rangiku is so soft, softer than Rukia could have imagined and yet somehow also not at all. When she pulls away all too soon, Rukia just barely hears Rangiku’s voice over the sound of blood pounding in her ears.

“You’re tipsy, dear. Don’t do anything silly.”

“I’m not.” Rukia insists. She only had two glasses of wine! Perhaps she’s not accustomed to drinking, but she certainly won’t sit here in her underwear and be patronized. Rukia reaches her arms around Rangiku’s shoulders, pulling her closer.“I’m not fragile, Lieutenant. You needn’t worry about breaking me.”

“Right. And I guess you weren’t feeling ‘fragile’ earlier when I bumped into you? You need to give yourself a little room to breathe once in a while, Rukia. And not just, like, for five minutes before you jump into someone’s bed.” Rangiku’s voice is tinged with faint distress, though she slopes her shoulders a little to allow Rukia to better finagle with the latch to her dress, sliding off much easier and smoother down her body.

“Technically, this isn’t your bed either.”

“Mmhmm.” Rangiku rolls onto her side, lying next to Rukia and watching the smaller woman finish pulling off her dress and dropping it over the side of the bed. Fine strands of Rangiku’s hair catch in the peach lace of her bra, tightly gripping the curves of her body. When she props herself up on her elbows, Rukia’s eyes are taken by the faint light glinting off of Rangiku’s silver necklace as it bounces between her breasts.

Rukia curls her fingers around the handle of Rangiku’s waist, feeling the collection of micro-scars and blemishes almost too small to see with the naked eye. It must be easy for people to forget that Rangiku is a warrior and a soldier, perhaps one of the most hard-working and skilled in the Gotei’s upper-ranks. She has as many cuts and scars as there are craters on the moon, just like Rukia does.

She presses a soft kiss onto Rangiku’s chest, between her collarbone and above the valley of her cleavage. Rangiku tilts her chin towards the ceiling and allows Rukia to graze the skin of her neck. “Did you love her?” Long fingers run through the back of Rukia’s short hair. “Orihime.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Rukia brushes her lips over Rangiku’s shoulders. The hand on Rangiku’s waist travels upwards to her back, and deftly Rukia’s fingers snap open the latch of Rangiku’s bra. “I don’t know. Maybe it could have been. In another life.”

“Is that why you were crying?”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“Sure, you were just hyperventilating into your hands for fun and wellness.”

Rukia tries to restrain the sting of irritation in her temple. To be honest, it’s very difficult to be angry at Rangiku when she’s spread across a bed nearly naked, fixing Rukia with a look of intense attention.

It’s no wonder that the blond woman has a reputation for frustrating the poor souls who become fixated with her. “You’re making it very challenging to have sex with you right now. If I’ve come on too strong, I’ll back off without you trying to pick my brain for weaknesses.”

Rangiku actually laughs at that, she runs both her hands through Rukia’s pixie cut and ruffles the layers of dark hair. “Kuchiki, for my money you’re the most gorgeous woman in Soul Society, and I’d go down on you in an instant if you asked!”

This news kind of causes Rukia’s head to spin. Getting called the most gorgeous woman by Rangiku Matsumoto makes Rukia feel like she’s being sucker-punched. She nearly misses the next part of the sentiment to come out of Rangiku’s mouth.

“But are you sure this is really what you wanna do? Like, are you gonna be happy that you went and slept with one of your coworkers because you were in a low place? Should I be worried that I’m taking advantage of you because you’re lonely and pretty and vulnerable?”

Rangiku’s pink cheeks seem to glow. How is she always so rosey and lively? She died once during the Blood War, supposedly placed into temporary lock-down of her physical body. Made into a walking corpse until they cut open her chest and made her heart beat once more.

Rukia puts her palms on Rangiku’s warm, round face, ignoring the ice and frost running through her own blue veins. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned that I’m taking advantage of you? I’m the one who wanted to come here with you and started taking my clothes off.”

Soft hands wrap around Rukia’s narrow wrists, pulling them away from Rangiku’s face so she can lean in and place a wet smooch smack on Rukia’s nose. It’s not very sexy at all, but it’s sweet and cute and Rukia’s skin tingles with touch. “You say that as if I would ever think of you taking your clothes off in front of me as a bad thing.”

It’s pretty wild, the idea that Rukia could have been out here fucking Rangiku at any ol’ time, and that she totally didn’t need to wait until now to have this revelation. Really puts life into perspective.

Is Rukia going to regret sleeping with Rangiku? No, of course not. Rukia has a lot of doubts about herself, but one thing that she’s absolutely secure in is her judgement of character. Rangiku won’t let Rukia down, at least not on purpose. Even if she did, Rukia’s reputation will recover from a few scandalous rumors eventually. Not like there aren’t already enough misconceptions about her floating around the public sphere.

“I think,” Rukia licks the salt off of her own lips. “I think I don’t want to be alone right now. And I think you’re someone who can take care of me.”

There’s nothing particularly graceful about Rangiku when she rolls onto her tummy, her soft chest pressed against the bedsheets until she sits backwards on her thighs and supports herself standing on her hands and knees. But she’s beautiful all the same, catlike and comfortable, and for Rukia she considers that to be even better than some supernatural myth of beauty.

Rangiku stretches her back and separates her shoulders, very feline, before grinning toothily at Rukia with her face besides Rukia’s hips. “Then by all means, let me to take some of this weight off your shoulders for this evening, darling.”

Rukia’s heart leaps into her throat when Rangiku’s hands slide up her thighs. She isn’t sure what to do with the rest of herself except to lean back into the pillows, sinking into the mattress and try not to freeze up while Rangiku slips her cotton panties down her hips and over her knees.

“Are you nervous?” Rangiku’s voice seems to rumble up the length of Rukia’s legs. Her hands spread Rukia’s legs apart, leaving her very open and suddenly very aware of the air touching every exposed, naked inch of her body,

“No more than usual, I think.” Rukia hears Rangiku giggle at the same time she feels the edges of blond hair tickle her inner thighs.

Electricity seems to run up Rukia’s core as Rangiku’s tongue begins to tenderly feel its way inside of her. She underestimated what it would feel like, how sensitive her inner walls would be to Rangiku’s hot, wet mouth moving around her.

A noise builds up in Rukia’s chest and she doesn’t know where to put it. She ends up bringing her hand to her mouth and moaning into the edge of her knuckles, at the same time a tremor goes through her legs and she feels them shake like the unsteady foundations of a bridge about to collapse.

She hears Rangiku also moan– can feel it vibrate inside of her as Rangiku’s blond head bobs and her shoulders rotate while she eats Rukia out. Is she touching herself while she goes down on Rukia? Rukia cranes her neck to try and see Rangiku’s body, but the other woman is doing a superb job at keeping her  preoccupied.

Rukia’s spine arches off of the bed. She feels that she should say something. Rangiku is clearly busy but the lack of communication feels discourteous on Rukia’s part when she’s being so diligently serviced.

What she manages to say is, “You’re really good at this…” punctuated by a sound that is halfway between a gasp and a hiccup. She believes that she can feel Rangiku’s lips smile around Rukia’s pussy as the tip of a tongue teases around her clit.

God. Part of Rukia was convinced that this would never happen. That there would never be room in her life for sex or anything of the steamy variety, so why even imagine? She’d only be taunting herself with fantasies of something she might not even have.

But the way Rangiku touches her, drawing the flat side of her tongue up Rangiku’s opening, is enough to give Rukia everything that she didn’t know she was missing. It’s phenomenal, the way Rangiku takes her into her mouth with absolutely no hesitation at all. Rukia shudders and curls her knees up and inwards to her body, opening herself as wide as possible for Rangiku while also fighting the compulsion to pull inwards, as if she could absorb the sensations between her legs into her entire body.

The edges of Rangiku’s hair tickle Rukia’s hips, Rukia reaches down and runs her slim fingers through wavy handfuls of blond hair. All those golden locks are lovely, but Rukia was an even bigger fan of Rangiku’s shorter look. Wouldn’t it be heavenly to feel those short, cropped edges slipping between her knuckles. Rukia rakes her fingers over Rangiku’s hair and hears the woman’s low moan, sounding suspiciously like purring.

“Rangiku…” Rukia’s chest heaves, and she feels her head spin. Suddenly, lights are popping behind her eyes and white fills the corners of her vision.

Rukia’s never had an orgasm before. She thought she had, but apparently her idea of an orgasm is very different from Rangiku’s idea. What she feels is like nothing else that’s ever happened to her before in her life.

In her stupor, Rukia becomes vaguely aware of Rangiku’s mouth ascending from Rukia’s body, which is unfortunate but she’ll live. Rukia’s palm runs over her own forehead and comes back damp, her bangs sticking to her brow, as the weight of Rangiku lands on the mattress next to Rukia. “How you you feel, hon?”

Mm. Yes. Talking. That’s a thing Rukia should remember how to do. “Good.” Her body feels loose and boneless, the slippery feeling of being so wet inside her thighs. “Just… I’m really, really good!”

“You sure are.” Rangiku easily pulls Rukia in, she finds herself embracing Rangiku’s warm, soft chest.

She feels, at least for now, some kind of peace.

 

Soul Society greets them with the brutality of a crisp, electric morning. Rukia has noticed, when she compares the seasons of Soul Society and the World of the Living, Soul Society seems to always be just a few paces behind the latter. As such, the grass is still tinted with frost in this world. She can taste the beginning of sleet on her skin. It’s still the end of a long winter.

“God, it’s even colder here than it was in Karakura last night!” Rangiku bundles herself in her coat, sounding pained. With her blond hair askew on one side, she certainly doesn’t strike Rukia as a morning person– not that Rukia is feeling much better. They have to sneak in through the Senkaimon early not to be noticed by anyone. “And Rukia, remember that you gotta call Renji when you get home. Otherwise he’s gonna yell and yell and yell at me for stealing you away or something and basically be a huge brat.”

“Mmhm, I didn’t forget.” Rukia’s hips are sore, the shower at the hotel did not do much to alleviate her discomfort, but it’s a fine ache. She doesn’t even mind smelling like cheap, crappy hotel soap.

It’s so early, the courtyard is devoid of any life outside of the city guards going about the last hours of the graveyard shift. Rukia and Rangiku both get several diligent bows, politely disregarding their strange attire and odd times of arrival. Being so high up the chain of command comes with at least a few pros to weigh out the cons.

“How do you think the party was without us?”

Rukia sees Rangiku ruffle her brows just a fraction, in some kind of movement that’s even less than an expression. Then it’s gone, back to her usual, happy, smiley self. “Oh, I’m sure it was fine! Hard to have a bad engagement party if both of the brides are happy.”

There’s a twinge of guilt. Rukia would be amiss to forget that Rangiku cares dearly about Orihime as a good friend, too. “You didn’t get to spend a lot of time with Inoue, right? You should go back to see her soon, before she’s too busy with the wedding.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will! Anyways, there’s still plenty of time before that.” Rangiku says chipperly, strutting ahead on the path with her elbows swinging at her sides, having pure confidence in all the things that fill Rukia with dread and doubt. The smaller woman feels the familiar pang of fondness. “Besides, last night was still a lot of fun, right Rukia?”

“Yes, of course it was.” Rukia hangs back a few paces, trying not to feel a blush crawl up her neck and stain her cheeks. It’s so nice, not to wake up and spend the morning alone with her anxieties. Rukia smiles even as her eyes shyly descend to the ground. “I still can’t thank you enough for having me over last night-”

She doesn’t realize she’s on a direct collision course with Rangiku’s back until Rukia walks right into it and gets a face full of shoulder. “Oof. Rangiku, you’re in the way.”

Rangiku looks tall and tan and bright when she turns around to face Rukia, reaching out to brush her fingers over Rukia’s forehead and pin her long bangs behind her ears. The blond woman leans in and plants a wet kiss between her eyes. “Believe me, honey, I’d do it literally any time.”

“Well,” Rukia is certainly flushing now, probably bright pink all over her face. It’s peculiar, she’s not even embarrassed about it. “We’ll have to see about arranging that.”


End file.
